The increased cannonade directed our course. It was impossible to remain longer. We crossed the forsaken park and made a détour around the deserted station. Behind us lay a city of silence, but her martyrdom continued incessantly. Shrill whirrings made the air quiver. Shells growled above the roofs, leaped the streets, crossed the squares, threatened, fell and exploded. There was a sudden crash of collapsing floors and of tumbling masonry. A quarter, somewhere in the city, was being pounded to dust and débris; an entire quarter was being hammered out of existence. Clouds of plaster filled the air; great stones crumbled. Families were unable to escape. Their homes, which should have sheltered them, were thrown wide open to the brutal dangers of the street. The invalid’s bed tottered in the ruins, the baby was thrown from its cradle. The old man died at the side of the youth, the wife in the arms of her husband, the child at its mother’s breast. The criminal extermination, determined upon and planned, was completing its frightful work, was blotting out a city, was beating to death a country. The Boche, squatting on the commanding heights, aimed his guns with ease, made sure of his fire and picked out his prey. He struck practically without risk to himself, sure to hit a target in the chaos of roofs, to demolish and to destroy. A town--what an immense quarry! The shell may fall where it will: it is sure to kill. The explosion will burst in some window, will cross some bedchamber, will find some victim. A town is a quarry more easily sighted than a battery. It is huge, it is immovable, it cannot reply. One can destroy it without danger to oneself. Therefore the shells fell unerringly; only the flames and smoke made reply.... We paid it no further attention. * * * * * My poor Berthet, charming companion, and sharer of so many unforgettable experiences, was unable to follow the regiment through all its struggles. One day, while in the Rheims sector, he suffered severely in a gas attack and the physicians ordered him to the rear for treatment in one of the resting-camps. Gradually the soft air of France healed his tortured lungs and started him on the path of recovery. The German poison had, however, severely shaken his constitution and the cure was slow. He was unable to rejoin us for the tragic trials at Verdun. VIII DISTRACTIONS